


The Words that I Wrote have Converted to Ropes

by A_Plethora_Of_Peters, Juan_Pujol_Garcia



Series: UMM (Urban Magic Mechanisms) [2]
Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Amnesia, Changelings, Dissociation, Fae & Fairies, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Loss of Identity, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28982367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Plethora_Of_Peters/pseuds/A_Plethora_Of_Peters, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juan_Pujol_Garcia/pseuds/Juan_Pujol_Garcia
Summary: “We have a deal, then. Your memories of your time with us in exchange for your freedom."Newly released from the Court, Ivy attempts to build a life as a changeling in the alien mortal world.
Relationships: Ivy Alexandria & Drumbot Brian
Series: UMM (Urban Magic Mechanisms) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863256
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	The Words that I Wrote have Converted to Ropes

**Author's Note:**

> CWs:
> 
> Discussions of past abuse  
> Disordered eating and discussion thereof  
> Dissociation  
> Implied past dehumanization  
> Internal denial of trauma

_The ground is cold and hard under your knees. Green and blue light emanate from the fungi draped over walls of the cavern. The air is hot and stagnant, filled with whispers. You do not know how you came to be here. What you do know is only that you are human and weak, while the shadowed forms surrounding you are neither._

_You stand to face the Court._

_The Queen smiles at you. Her eyes cold, her features flawless, she is beautiful and perfect and horrifying. You tear your eyes away from her, staring at the ground as she begins to speak._

_“We have a deal, then. Your memories of your time with us -” she taps her fingers on - a book? You can’t tell, your eyes refuse to focus on it “- in exchange for your freedom.” She leans back on her throne. “We relinquish our claim upon you,” she says, voice insouciant as she announces your fate._

_There are footsteps behind you. A pair of knights step into position at your side. Two hands rest upon your shoulders, and there is a lurch as you leave the Court behind. You force down your nausea at the abrupt shift and keep your expression vacant._

_The mortal realm is both muted and overwhelming. Compared to the Court, everything is dull and stagnant, but there are far too many sounds and colors and so much life swirling endlessly around you, unceasing unfathomable -_

_You jolt out of your reverie as the knight’s grip on your left shoulder tightens briefly._

_“Right, then. Let’s get you settled.”_

-

The door to the back conference room is closed. Ivy slips the pull list she was working on into her pocket and makes her way through the shelves. It’s not uncommon for the door to be closed, of course. The library is, in so many ways, a refuge for those who need it. That no one notified her of the latest waif, on the other hand…

Whoever is there, they’re probably not dangerous. Her coworkers probably just forgot to update her, especially if this is a new development. She does trust them, as much as she trusts anyone. Ivy sighs, then walks over to the door. Her work can wait. She won’t be able to focus until she’s checked for herself, anyway. Ivy knocks thrice, then quietly opens the door.

The conference room’s current inhabitant is asleep, apparently passed out with their face in a textbook. They’re young - maybe two years younger than Ivy herself. Ivy glances at them with her Sight, then recoils with a wince. A crown of golden oak leaves sits atop their brow, and the Court’s fingerprints are all over them. Their changeling status couldn’t be more obvious if they had “Faerie Kin!” carved into their head.

Ivy sighs quietly. “Poor fucker,” she mutters, shaking her head. She hesitates for a moment, then returns to her desk. She grabs an energy drink and protein bar from her stash and places them on the conference room table. Giving the changeling another sideways glance, Ivy returns to her work. 

-

_The knights remain with you for three days. You do not know why. The hunger for knowledge claws at your every waking moment, but you are not fool enough to ask. They teach you, and they ask for nothing in return, and while they assure you you incur no debt you are still afraid._

_They tell you about modern technology, telephones and printing and computers. They teach you how to use them, though they speak of such things with mingled disdain and begrudging respect. They attempt to explain capitalism, and the regular unrelenting beat of time, but you can see clearly how they struggle with these unfamiliar concepts._

_Those first three days of freedom are an incessant flood of information. There is so much one must know to function in this world, and you lack all of it save basic literacy. You do not sleep, while they remain at your side. Your guides will not linger for long and you cannot afford to miss any of the information they possess. It would also be unwise to sleep in the presence of members of the Court, but that is a matter of...lesser concern._

_They bid you farewell with inscrutable expressions. You bow precisely as deeply as you ought to and convey your gratitude._

_When they leave, it is a weight off your shoulders, yet their absence leaves you adrift. You are painfully aware of your vulnerabilities, the knowledge of each and every way you are powerless inescapable._

_You take a deep breath and straighten, setting your jaw. You have so much work to do._

-

Ivy has never considered herself a particularly sentimental person, and she doesn’t intend to start now. Her newfound habit of leaving food and drink for the changeling currently taking refuge in the library is no reflection upon that. The library is like a second home to her. It’s simple hospitality, which she is not going out of her way to accomplish. That’s all.

She doesn’t only stop by when they’re asleep. That would be ridiculous, and infeasible besides. She does, however, get in the habit of applying her stealth sigils beforehand. For someone to have escaped the Court’s grasp and retained most of their humanity requires...well. Ivy doesn’t know where their loyalties lie and won’t be risking it. 

Ivy sets a mug of tea and a granola bar on the table next to them - dozing off over a dense anatomy book this time - then turns to leave. 

“Thank you,” a quiet voice says, heavy with sleep.

Ivy freezes, then almost trips over her own feet as she flees. She hides among the adult fiction shelves until her racing pulse settles. She pulls her sleeves up with shaking hands, cursing herself when she sees that she fucking forgot the sigils, how could she be so stupid - stop. Breathe. In four, hold four, out four, repeat ad nauseum, and once more for good measure…

It’s fine. She will be fine. Unknown background and motives aside, if they were actively serving the Court they wouldn’t be crashing in a library to avoid the streets. Ivy reapplies her sigils with extra caution before venturing back into the conference room some hours later.

There is a note on the table. Ivy picks it up. The handwriting is...reassuringly messy, not the too-perfect copperplate of a Noble.

**I’m sorry I startled you. Thank you for the food - I appreciate it.**

Ivy stares at the note for a moment, then tucks it into a pocket. She puts an orange in its place and leaves, oddly confused.

The next day, there is another note.

**I’m Brian, he/him. What may I call you and what pronouns would you like me to use for you?**

Ivy hesitates. Then again, there’s probably no harm in responding to it…

**Ivy, she/her.**

**It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am relieved that I didn’t scare you off.**

Ivy realizes she is unfamiliar with the etiquette of correspondence. In general, and especially in this situation. This probably doesn’t require a response, right? It seems like the end of a conversation. Brian, apparently, disagrees.

**Is there any way I could repay you?**

Ivy ponders this latest note for a long moment. She...doesn’t want him in her debt. Not over something as basal as hospitality. Yet, refusal to acknowledge what he perceives as an imbalance will probably just upset him. Ivy frowns at the sleeping teenager. Humans aren’t nocturnal. She has been informed of this, repeatedly and at length. Such exhaustion is probably not a good sign, right?

**Have you considered attempting to take better care of yourself?**

**I can only do so much :(**

...well. That simply won’t do.

-

_You draw up a list of necessities, by urgency. First is iron. After iron, new clothes. While you need food and a place to sleep, the means by which to obtain those will come more easily once you blend in with those around you._

_The last thing you want to be is noticeable._

_You ponder the logistics of this for a while, wandering the streets. Eventually you select your target: a large department store. The building is impersonal and cold. No one has ever cared for this place or establishment enough to protect it. The faint traces of human suffering, ignored and mocked, feel...familiar. It is not a feeling like coming home, but it is the closest to such you can recall._

_You wait outside, across the sea of asphalt and concrete, until the store opens. When it does, you wait another hour, so that no one will think your immediate presence odd. You walk in casually, as though you do such things every day._

_It takes all you have to not break your stride upon entering the building. The ceiling is high and echoing, the aisles crowded with bodies and conversations, and there is no map. You take a shaky breath and push onwards. You know what you need, and it does not matter how long it will take you to obtain it._

_Iron first. The cookware section is promising, but a bit less portable than you would prefer. Hardware it is, then. To your great relief, there are a wide array of suitable nails. You tear open one of the packages immediately. The points of the nails bite into your skin as you clutch the iron desperately, fighting back tears of relief._

_Right. Goal one obtained. Clothes next._

_When you step into the changing area, carrying the least texturally offensive and obtrusive of the available garments, you register the absence of observance. Peering out of the stall, you notice what you should have seen earlier - the store is full of security cameras. You close the door and all but collapse against it._

_Fuck. Now what?_

_You remain paralyzed for far too long. Eventually, you force yourself to resume wandering the store, mind churning futilely. You cling to the iron nails in your pocket, grounding yourself with the cool metal and its promise of protection._

_When you begin consciously processing sensory input again, you are in an aisle full of stationary. Your hands seem to have a mind of their own as you uncap some sort of writing implement and begin...drawing? On your arm? You watch as though through frosted glass as your skin is covered in sigils for stealth, for passing unnoticed, for eyes to move over you without remembering your face._

_Well. This certainly makes things easier._

_The rest of your expedition passes mostly without incident. There is only one further unexpected element. As you meander in search of essentials, you find a toy. Its small, round body is covered in faux fur, with triangular, wide-set ears, overly large eyes, and a slightly opened beak. It is certainly not mundane, but you cannot identify its energy. In its flat, dead eyes, you almost believe you see a spark of...Intent._

_After a moment of hesitation, you pick up the not-creature. Perhaps, if it is indeed living, it will be bound by hospitality. And regardless, something about its ominous presence is...reassuring._

-

The week after the last note finds Ivy sitting in the conference room reading. She’s trying very hard to distract herself from the situation she is, of her own free will, placing herself in. It’s not particularly effective. With her stealth sigils washed off, Ivy feels ridiculously exposed, and tries to ground herself in the library’s familiar wards.

The door to the conference room swings open. Brian walks in, shrugging an overburdened backpack off of his shoulders. Ivy closes her book as he notices her presence, pausing in the doorway.

“Oh. Hello, Miss Ivy,” Brian says.

Ivy winces. That - nope. “Just Ivy is fine,” she tells him quickly.

“Ivy,” he repeats with a warm smile. “You can call me Brian.”

“Hello, Brian,” Ivy says, running her fingers up and down the spine of her book nervously. “It’s a pleasure to meet you properly.” She stalls out there. While her customer service skills have greatly increased since she started working at the library, they aren’t exactly applicable to this conversation.

“...is there something that you wanted to talk to me about directly?” Brian prompts her as the silence stretches awkwardly.

Ivy opens her mouth, then reconsiders. “Give me a moment, if it’s no trouble?” she asks, hating the uncertainty in her tone.

“Of course.” Brian sets his bag down at the table and starts pulling out notebooks and reference texts. Every now and then he casts her a slightly nervous glance, but he’s polite enough not to stare.

Ivy measures her breaths carefully, focusing on the embossed leather of the book in her hands. She knows what she’s doing. She’s thought this through, and made a decision, and she just needs to get her fucking words to cooperate enough to enact it. 

Ivy sighs, drumming her fingers on the cover. “Right. Okay. Let’s, ah - “ conversations, conversations, how do they work, “- what are you studying?”

“At the moment? Anatomy. I want to be a doctor.”

That’s not the answer Ivy was expecting. She blinks at him. “You’re attending a university, then?” she asks, unable to keep her surprise out of her voice. He must have returned to the mortal world quite quickly, to legally exist enough to register for classes.

“Yes?” Brian says cautiously. Something in her tone must have given him pause. “One that has both magical and non-magical teachings.” 

Ivy nods. “Both important,” she says neutrally.

“What about you?” Brian asks. “I assume you work here.”

“Yes, I do,” Ivy says, pointing at the simple metal name tag on her shirt. 

Brian nods hesitantly. After a moment, he asks, “Did you...have a run in with the Fair Folk as well?”

Smiles are supposed to be non-threatening, so Ivy politely does so. “That is a not-inaccurate term in this instance.” 

“Ah...I see,” Brian says with a nervous shiver. He glances at the door.

Okay. Those mannerisms were a miscalculation. Ivy lets the smile drop and sags against the back of her chair. “Yes,” she admits. “I was property of the Court for…” she doesn’t even know how long, “...a while.” She looks back up at him with a shrug. “I intend no harm.”

“Sidhe or Unsidhe?”

“...the latter.”

“Oh…” Brian looks at her with - not pity, fortunately, she hates that - sympathy? She thinks it’s sympathy. He bites his lip and offers weakly, “Well, you neither drank nor supped from their table, unlike me, so. There’s that?”

Ivy does not allow herself to flinch. That is an entirely reasonable assumption for him to make, given the lack of an evident claim on her. “Regardless of the lengths of our respective journeys, we are both here now,” she says, in lieu of answering.

“Was that the only reason you wanted to talk?” Brian asks.

Whoops. She’s allowed herself to get sidetracked. “No, it was not. I wanted to ask if you would like to come stay at my apartment for a bit.”

Brian is immediately on edge, so at least he has decent survival instincts. “At what cost?” he asks.

“Some assistance with chores,” Ivy responds. She shrugs. “It’s not like I’m inviting you to a mansion, it’s just a tiny, cheap place.”

Brian hesitates. “I may have - there is a Fae who visits me, to make sure I’m doing okay. She won’t hurt you, but...she may try to intimidate you? Just to check that you don’t mean me any harm.”

Interesting. But not insurmountable. “She will have to meet you elsewhere,” Ivy warns. “I will not be taking down my wards enough to permit her entrance.”

Brian nods. “Very well, then.”

Ivy blinks at him, raising an eyebrow. She hadn’t expected this to be so...easy. “Really?”

“You’re offering a warded home where the Fae can’t enter,” Brian points out. “That’s why I’ve been staying here in the first place - the local coven has some wards up, they can’t come in.”

“I know. They’ve been...very helpful,” Ivy admits.

Brian gives her a look that she can identify as concerned. “How…how long were you with the Fair Folk?” he asks quietly.

“Who can say?” Ivy deflects with a shrug. “You know how time is, in their realm.”

Brian winces and mercifully doesn’t press. “Yeah…”

“Anyway,” Ivy says, eager to move on. “I gather you don’t mind staying here for the rest of my shift?”

“No, of course not.”

Ivy flashes him a more genuine smile and stands. “I’ll be at the circulation desk, if you need anything.

“Thank you for your kindness,” Brian says, as she turns towards the door.

“It’s not kindness. Just hospitality.” 

“Which is a form of kindness,” Brian insists, smiling.

Ivy can feel her face heating up, so she turns away. “Which is an obligation to one’s community,” she counters.

“I suppose,” Brian concedes. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

Ivy nods and does so, flushed with the adrenaline of a Successful Interaction.

-

_Now better equipped, you go to the library. A wealth of information, a quiet space with fewer people, chairs in which you can sleep however restlessly - it is the best option available to you. The lack of an entrance fee and computer access certainly ease your decision._

_The library is warded. This gives you pause, but none of the magic protecting the building is fae in origin. They are human-made, patchwork things, created with love and bolstered over the years. Nonetheless, you lurk outside until you believe you have identified the person currently maintaining the wards. One of the librarians, it seems - a short human with curly red hair, whose aura feels as charged as the air before a storm. While their power is...concerning, you can detect no malice, and there are unlikely to be any better options._

_It seems that there are social services available for changeling children and those returning from under the hill. Programs focusing on reintegration into society, locating long-lost family members, and “therapy”. This last concept requires further research, but you eventually decide against pursuing any of them. Making these systems aware of your existence would expose your vulnerability to unknown numbers of individuals, all with their own schemes. You may not know how long you were with the Court, but you do know that any family you had is long-dead. Not that they would know you anyway, as you are now. And as for therapy? Any trauma you may have endured is no longer yours, swept away along with your memories. Although it is interesting to know that these things exist, you will not bare your existence to them._

_You dive into your research. There is so much to learn - history, governmental and social structure, scientific progress - and ignorance in any field could get you caught. You lose track of time as you read, adrift in a sea of information._

_...what if you forget? Again? Memories are fickle things, and the erasure of so much work - whether by your own mind’s natural faltering, or another Deal of unknown origins - it would not destroy you, for you refuse to shatter so easily, but. It would be less than ideal._

_You push your current stack of books aside and roll up your sleeves. The sigils come to you easily, much to your relief. You sketch out symbols for the integrity of memory, for rapid recollection, for-_

_“What are you doing back here?”_

_...ah. Right. You removed your stealth runes before entering the library for a reason. It takes you a long moment to remember how to move, turning slowly to face the ward-keeper you spotted earlier. The nametag on their shirt reads ‘Tris.’ You hide your shaking hands under the desk and prepare to explain._

-

Ivy bids her coworkers’ farewell, avoiding Tris’s knowing gaze as she walks over to where Brian is waiting. He’s obviously doing some sort of magic. She peers over his shoulder curiously. He has a drumstick in hand, which he’s apparently used to draw magic circles on a piece of paper. Tiny motes of light manifest over the circles, moving across the page with his gestures. 

“Finished?” Brian asks, glancing back at Ivy. He banishes the lights with a flick of his wrist, shouldering his bag.

“Yes. What were you doing?” Ivy asks as she leads him out of the library.

“Just practicing a light spell. Some people find it useful to have a visual distraction during medical treatments, and they can be used as an evaluation as well.”

“Why the drumstick?” Ivy asks. It’s not the most typical magical tool - although she’s hardly one to talk on that matter.

“Wood just comes naturally to me as a conductor,” Brian says, keeping pace with her easily. “It’s a lot easier to buy a drumstick and modify it to my specifications than to commission a custom wand from a mage.”

“That’s reasonable,” Ivy says. And indicates significant skill, if he’s able to modify a basic drumstick into a usable magical focus. “How did you learn that wood comes easily to you?”

“Ah.” Brian’s voice becomes a bit uncomfortable. “I, ah - there was. An incident, when I was a child, involving a pool cue and a neighborhood kid who wouldn’t stop bullying me during a house party…”

Ivy chuckles. “That would do it.”

Brian hums softly. “I think I transfigured him into a guinea pig? If I’m remembering correctly.”

“Impressive, for an amateur without training. How old were you?”

“Six or seven?” Brian answers. “I was eight when -” he cuts himself off, biting his lip.

“Ah.” Ivy casts around for a diversion. “Well. At least drumsticks are easily obtained.” She winces at the weakness of attempt.

Fortunately, Brian seems willing to take the out. “Yeah. All music shops have them, and I don’t need a particularly fancy one either.”

“That’s good.” Thinking about some of her own experimentation, Ivy asks, “Do you know how the types of wood affect things?”

“It depends on the type of spell I’m doing,” Brian answers, expression brightening. “I mostly do healing and defensive spells, so softer woods are more effective for healing and hard woods for the latter.” 

“Fascinating.”

“What about you?” Brian asks curiously. “How do you use your magic?”

“Oh! Sigils, mostly,” Ivy says. She rolls up her left sleeve to show Brian the sigils written on it in dark sharpie.

“Wow,” Brian says, leaning in close. Ivy stops walking to allow him a better look. “Written magic like that is really rare nowadays.” He reaches out to point at one of the sigils, careful not to touch or smear it. “What’s this one do?”

“It’s to enhance my memory,” Ivy answers. 

“How detailed is it?”

"The position is somewhat...limiting,” Ivy admits, a bit sheepish. “But above the average human in detail and recall speed.”

“Positioning?” Brian asks. He seems genuinely curious, not just asking to be polite. “So if it were on your shoulder or neck it would be different?”

Ivy nods. “Symbolism is _essential_ for sigilwork like this. The forearm isn’t exactly associated with memory, so closer to the head would increase efficacy.”

“But because sigils are very finicky, you can’t exactly draw it on your head safely,” Brian concludes.

“Precisely.”

“Hmm...what about having them tattooed?”

“I have considered the possibility,” Ivy says. “But it’s not exactly in your average tattoo artist’s purview. Anyone actually qualified to do the work is someone I can’t trust with it.”

Brian hums softly. “I suppose so…”

Ivy resumes walking. She leads Brian to an older, run-down area of the city, and an equally dilapidated apartment building. She digs through her pockets for the keyring as he glances around.

“Lots of iron around here,” Brian says quietly. Ivy nods and waves him into the narrow hallway. The fluorescent bulbs buzz loudly overhead, audible over the muffled sounds of the city outside.

“It’s not much,” Ivy warns him. 

“But you can do magic here, right?” Brian asks excitedly.

Ivy smiles at his enthusiasm as she unlocks the apartment. “That’s correct. Come in.” She opens the door to reveal a tiny, sparely furnished one-bedroom apartment.

“Any place that I can practice magic is great, no matter how messed-up,” Brian says firmly as he crosses the threshold. 

Ivy files that statement away for later reference. “This should meet all of your standards, then,” she says, ignoring the way the light above the kitchen table flickers.

Brian nods, setting down his things. He seems uneasy. “Ah, your wards - they’re kind of pulling at me?”

Oh, right. He’s all but dripping in fae magic, it’s no wonder the wards are reacting badly even though he’s invited. “Ah, one moment?” Ivy pulls a pen from her pockets and walks over to the draft paper lining the walls. A few minor edits here, some tweaks there…she keeps an eye on Brian as she works, to make sure she hasn’t miscalculated and harmed him.

After a few minutes’ work, Brian visibly relaxes. “Thank you.”

What else must a host do…”Any food allergies?” Ivy asks. 

“Not at all!” Brian says cheerfully. He smiles warmly at her.

Ivy looks away. “There’s some food in the freezer,” she says, grabbing a book from one of the stacks at random and sitting at the table to read. It’s all cheap microwave meals, without anyone here to exude judgement until she eats “something healthy”, but it’s food.

Brian seems unimpressed by the options, but takes something out with a sigh. “Utensils?” he asks.

“Drawer under the microwave.”

“Thank you.” 

Ivy attempts to focus on her book as Brian eats, but she can’t stop being hyperaware of his presence in her normally-empty apartment. He eventually pushes the plate away with a muttered curse. When Ivy glances up at him, the food is only half-gone, if that.

“I thought it being shitty food - no offense - would distract me from the taste, but.” Brian sighs, shaking his head. “Side effects of Fae food, and all. Everything else is just…bland.”

Ivy nods in understanding. Bland is putting it nicely. “...I use my phone calendar,” she offers quietly. “Set alarms. Manage to choke down something, normally. Hopefully enough.”

The attempt at sympathy seems to misfire, as Brian gives her a baffled look. “But - you’re still human? How do you know what Fae food and drink is like?”

Ivy keeps her face neutral as she responds. “I don’t remember. It could technically be an entirely unrelated issue, but given the other primary source literature I’ve found from former changelings that seems...unlikely.”

“I guess, but - they told me that everyone who accepts their food becomes a part of their realm. But I can see that you...didn’t…”

Ivy turns a page in her book, despite not processing any of the words printed on it. “Only if they want to stake that claim.”

“Oh…” Ivy continues to stare at her book blankly through the silence. Eventually, Brian quietly says, “...I’m sorry.”

“Your sympathies are appreciated, if unnecessary,” Ivy says, barely any louder. The silence feels anticipatory, so she waits.

“How - how long ago did you get out?” Brian asks.

“...Three years,” Ivy answers, quietly.

“It’s been nine years for me,” Brian says. 

Ivy closes her eyes briefly. “I see.”

“I was - I was only there for what felt like a week, and they-” Brian takes a shaky breath, then continues. “My cousin came to rescue me, and they took her in my place. When I came back, it had been a month…”

So he got out via a trade. “Is she who comes to check on you?” Ivy asks curiously.

“Yeah,” Brian says, smiling sadly. “They call her Mellona now.”

Either a defunct moth genus, or - “Bee fae?” Ivy guesses.

“Yeah.”

“I - it is good that you still have her support,” Ivy says.

Brian makes a sound of agreement. “Did the Court that had you just...leave you?”

Ivy nods. 

This doesn’t seem to be enough for Brian, as he presses on. “Do any of them still hang around?”

Ivy shakes her head. “Two of them did, the first few days. I did not ask why.”

“You were probably in there for a long time...longer than me for sure.” Brian tilts his head slightly, giving her a searching look. “Does your leaving have to do with the memory spell tangled around your head?”

In two three four, hold two three four. Ivy nods incrementally as she exhales.

“Makes sense,” Brian says quietly. “They always have a catch. Like, Mellona says if I - when I die, I will change fully into a Fae.”

“Bargains, fine print, and loopholes,” Ivy agrees.

“I wish I could help you,” Brian says with a sigh. Ivy stares at him blankly. When he notices her expression, he elaborates, “I mean. Don’t you wish you could have your memories back?”

Ivy stiffens. She closes her book, pointedly slow, movements deliberate enough that her minute trembling should pass unnoticed. This - he has magic. Powerful magic, and classes, and - no. She needs to be clear, here, or she may not get another chance. “Brian,” she begins. “I understand that you mean well. However. I wish to be perfectly transparent. If you attempt to restore, return, or otherwise meddle with my memories, I will take any steps necessary to stop you, no matter how violent.”

Brian jolts, staring at her like a deer in headlights. “I - I -”

Ivy closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see the newfound fear on his face. She lets her hands lie flat on her thighs. She’s committed to this. No point in leaving something unfinished. “I made a deal. My memories were the price of my freedom, and I _will not_ break that deal. I welcome you into my home, pathetic though it may be, and offer my hospitality to shield you from the world. I forgive you this accidental insult, as it was borne of well-intentioned ignorance, but it was an insult. Do you understand?”

Ivy doesn’t open her eyes, but the tension in Brian’s voice is clear as he responds, “Yes. I am sorry for suggesting such a thing when I did not know the full situation.” 

Ivy lets out a deep sigh. She leans her elbows on the table, head in her hands. She’s overreacted. “It’s - you didn’t know. You had no way of knowing, and I was the one being evasive in the first place.” She hesitates, biting her lip. “If you are no longer comfortable staying in my home, I can talk to some of the coven members - I’m sure there’s legal loopholes around whatever your whole situation is, and while their wards aren’t as…” paranoid overkill “...thorough as mine, they’re still more than sufficient. I am sure that they would welcome you, if it was clear that you were looking for that sort of support.”

“It’s fine,” Brian says without hesitation. “I - I was the one who spoke without thinking.”

Ivy looks at him searchingly. He’s tense and clearly frightened, empty hands set flat on the table where she can see them. She frowns. “As your host and your elder-”

“As your guest,” Brian interrupts, “I should’ve been more careful with how I addressed you. I almost broke Hospitality with my carelessness.”

“...the fault was shared,” Ivy offers after a moment. “I shall strive to show more kindness to my guest going forward.”

Brian gives a slight nod of agreement. “And I will refrain from prying into your personal life in the future.”

Ivy manages a weak smile. “For what it’s worth, there’s not much else. That’s the only real concern, honestly.”

“Right.”

Ivy returns her gaze to her book, shoulders tense. She tries to focus on the page as Brian puts his abandoned dinner in the fridge, then clears his throat.

“Um. Where do you want me to sleep?” he asks, awkwardly.

“You can use the mattress. There’s clean linens in the closet.” It’s the least she can offer him. 

“Okay. Thank you.”

Ivy hums an acknowledgement. When Brian leaves the room to get things arranged, she quickly takes the blanket from the bed and wraps it around herself, returning to the table. She eventually manages to refocus on her book, only pausing to switch from the kitchen light to a softer, less obtrusive light rune so she won’t interfere with Brian’s sleep. When the gaping abyss of the quiet apartment once again leaves her feeling unmoored, Ivy simply sighs and slides under the table. She doesn’t forget about her guest, exactly but his presence weighs on her less than she had expected. Ivy dozes off, buoyed by her certainty that she has made the correct choice.

-

_Tris, you learn, is a member of a local coven. She and her family (by choice, not blood, she had clarified immediately) have connections to a temple. You do not recognize the name, of course, but the way Tris says it prompts you to feign familiarity._

_She does not ask where you came from, or what brings you here. She just studies you for one long, excruciating moment, then offers to let you stay in the library._

_You meet Tris’s siblings. You are not fool enough to think it coincidence, when they “happen” to stop by the library, with time to spare for introductions. But they do not ask, so you are safe to stay. For now._

_When you talk, they say they wish to help you. You are...reluctant to believe them, but also quite limited in other options. You do not know your age for certain, but your interactions with library patrons lead you to believe you are around sixteen. This is, apparently, young enough to severely limit your autonomy. So you do not find yourself in a position to turn down their offer of help. However, they are semi-public figures, and you are desperate to avoid the public eye, so you make clear that there are limits on what you will accept. You are not some wealthy do-gooder’s charity case._

_To your surprise, they allow these terms. Tris convinces her boss to offer you a job at the library, despite your lack of official existence. They give you enough money to get a small apartment, and assist with the requisite paperwork. You attempt to reject such an obvious ploy to trap you in their debt, but Sandry hounds you with theory about ‘mutual aid’ and ‘building resilient communities’ until you relent. Besides, there are few prices you would not pay for a proper threshold to sustain your wards._

_Somehow, the situation - your situation - settles into something functional. You have a life, and it is yours to live._


End file.
